Final day with my dad

On Sunday December 14th 2008 at 20:45 military time my beloved father passed away at the Sepulveda Veterans Hospital in North Hills California. On this day I lost the person dearest to me whom will live on in my mind forever. Nearly two years ago he was diagnosed with the small cell lung cancer that grew to puncture the blood vessel that erupted into a pool of blood before my eyes, and stole the man responsible for both my creation and methods of existence. He molded my virtues, morals and world views; he made me who I am. My father and I were always extremely close. When my parents got separated (and eventually divorced) when I was 8 years old I chose to live with him, he was the most preeminent figure in my life.
I dedicated the last two years of my time to him. Due to his poor health we spent most of the last two years watching nearly every Boston sports game (Redsox, Celtics, Patriots). When my dad moved into hospice roughly a month ago I purchased an XM radio the very next day so we would not miss a game, and could carry on our tradition and personal bond. Sunday was no different aside from the fact that it was the end of my time with him. In my head I keep replaying the moments he left over and over again. I break the day down into two distinct parts. The first seven hours that I spent with my greatest friend which blend in with the twenty-four special years we spent together. Then the final minutes that expired his life which marked an end to his suffering and a close to the first volume of my life.
I woke up on Sunday at 12:32 in the afternoon. I distinctly recall opening my eyes, peering over at the clock and thinking to myself “fuck, the Patriots are on in 45 minutes”. I sprung out of bed quicker than usual and darted over to the hospice so we could listen to the game together on the radio. My father was in good spirits. He was coherent, alert, and independent. We bullshitted like we always do and shared a variety of thoughts with each other. I shared my previous night with him. Told him that after I left visiting him the previous night I played some online poker, and that former world champion Chris Moneymaker was briefly at my table. I bragged that I went on to take first place in the tournament even though it was only for a few bucks. My dad has been my greatest supporter when it comes to playing cards. He had the greatest confidence in my abilities and fully backed my decision not to “work” and play poker over the past three years while attending school. He knows I stopped playing regularly over the past six months because the stress of poker combined with his illness was weighing on me tremendously. I shared my desire with him to return to playing once he is gone, something I had told him several times previously over the past few weeks. Most notably, we talked about my aunt Mary, somebody who has done so much for him, my brother, and I over the past twelve years during some rough times. He informed me he wanted to write her a letter for me to give her after he passed. I replied that I had a paper to write for school and would bring my laptop tomorrow to work on it, and we could work on the letter as well. We carried on all day with hardly a moment of silence.
When I had first arrived the first thing my dad asked me is if I brought him any cigarettes. I was in such a rush to catch the game with him that I had forgotten. I called my friend Javier who said he was going to come hang out and asked him to pick some up on the way. My dad was craving that cigarette so bad he told me I’d have to go buy him a pack at halftime if Javi wasn’t there yet. He walked in the door just in time to save me the trip and my dad stood up and walked to the opposite side of the room where a door led outside to a field of grass. There was a small round table outside with three chairs. It was a peaceful area that my dad loved. The first time my friend Derek came to visit him there my dad told him “it is a good place to come to die”. He was always blunt with his thoughts just like me and he had asserted that he had accepted his imminent death. I’d soon realize that I had accepted it too. After the game Javi and I decided to go play some basketball at the courts about a 3 minute walk away on the hospital grounds. To my surprise my father was up to come and watch us play for the first time in over a week. Though this time he asked that instead of us pushing him over in his wheelchair we should take my truck. When my dad attempted to get into my truck, for the very first time he was too weak and struggled. I jumped out of the driver seat and ran over to help him. Javi and I got him situated in the passenger seat, but some how in the process I temporarily misplaced my keys. After a couple minutes of searching my dad decided he was tired and didn’t feel well, he asked to be taken back inside, so we met his wishes. Then Javi and I walked over to the courts and played for a little while. We returned and Javi told him goodbye for what turned out to be the very last time. At this point one may wonder who won the game if that was supposedly the purpose of my visit, but I never really watched the thousands of games with my dad because it matters who wins or loses in these trivial displays of entertainment. I watched because it is thousands of hours that I got to spend with my dad. Though admittedly a win is always nice and the Patriots did prevail 49-26.
I briefly left to buy my dad a carton of cigarettes, paper cups, and some soda for his room. Shortly after I returned my brother arrived with his two small dogs Taco and Lucy. He had been there earlier in the day while I was sleeping in and ate breakfast with my dad. He didn’t stay too long but said he would be back for breakfast again tomorrow. I asked him to leave the dogs and told him I would drop them off when I left in about half an hour after Sunday night football was over. Out of everything that day nothing breaks my heart more than thinking of my brother saying good-bye for the very last time. For me, those were the first seven hours of my day with my dad. Those seven hours blend right in with the first twenty-four years of my life and the relationship I have always cherished with him. Two like minds kicking it for hours on end.
When my brother left the room I remember looking at the clock, it was 7:56. I pondered if the Simpsons were going to be airing at 8. Then my dad and I talked for a few minutes, he sat at the foot of the bed playing with the dogs. For the very first time since he had been in hospice I took several pictures of him with the dogs from my cell phone. He then said “I’m going to go have a cigarette”. This is when my world began to rapidly change forever.
My father stood up into the center of the room where he began to cough. He spit up some blood into a wash cloth but it was too much and poured onto the floor. He walked into the bathroom and I followed. He vomited into the sink and filled it with his blood. I could see clots floating in the pool. I asked him “do you want me to get the nurse” and he said “yes”. Right when I opened the door a nurse was outside about to enter the room next door, I calmly told her “my dad is coughing up blood”, she came in the room and looked into the bathroom and said “oh my”. She ran and got more nurses, within seconds three were in the room and another was on the phone calling the doctor. My dad dropped his pajama pants and sat on the toilet, I pushed the trash can over to him and opened the lid but he only spit a small amount of blood that was already in his mouth. A nurse came in and said the doctor wanted him to get in bed, he was alert and said “ok”. Along with the help of a couple other nurses I guided him to bed. When he sat down he was worn out and looked beat. He needed help to lay on his back, a nurse placed a suction hose in his mouth to suck up all the blood and put oxygen in his nose. I sat on the couch next to his bed, watched his face and looked into his eyes. He began to get pale and I could tell he was losing consciousness. I yelled at him “Dad, Dad, Dad”, I had the dogs on my lap and held them both, I knew he was going, I already knew it was over. A piece of me asked that it would be. I put my face up against Lucy and kissed her head. Just like that, he was gone. In those few minutes that will always remain with me my greatest friend was gone forever.
Over the past three days I have shocked myself at how strong I am. The truth is I was as prepared as I believe I possibly could have been with my father’s passing. The last two years were the most difficult two years of my life thus far. I had a hard time coping with my dad being ill and fathoming his departure. I cried every day for precisely two weeks straight after learning he was diagnosed with lung cancer. The past two years have been filled with many tears and restless nights. Now at this stage it is almost a relief that it is over. My dad wont have to suffer anymore from that brutal disease. I can move on with my life and close the first volume as sad as it is.
People will tell me that he is in a better place or that he will no longer have to suffer. There is some truth in their remarks. However, my dad nor I have ever been religious people and neither one of us has any faith in an after life. I do recognize how powerful of a tool that can be. To me those are nice thoughts and great ideas but they are based on no impressions of the physical world that I have been exposed to. Therefore, I have no reason in my mind to believe such ideas.
I do feel that it is important for the human mind to create coping mechanisms and it is something that I worked on and thought about a lot during those sleepless nights over the past two years. My dad will live on and be carried with me in my own mind. I believe these thoughts to be strictly of my own creation. However, I know I’ll be able still lean on him when in difficult situations and ponder what he would do, or want me to do. I’ll live the rest of my life for him and try to make him proud. I also know I will miss him more than anything and always wish I had one more day like the first seven hours of Sunday with him. Some things I just know. I know at my college graduation I’ll cry when I hug my best friend because I’ll be thinking of him wishing he was there to see me. Most importantly, I know that he loves me and wants me to move on and enjoy the remainder of my own life.

(the above was written as extra credit for a philosophy class 3 days after my father passed)